


Colour Theory

by Sylindara



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/F, Magical Realism, everything is kind of metaphorical, kind of, the relationship is mostly metaphorical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylindara/pseuds/Sylindara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say there is magic in everything, if you only choose to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour Theory

They say there is magic in everything, if you only choose to see.

Masako hasn’t looked at anything through a view not tinged in blood since she was very young. What she sees is nothing like the magic _they_ talk about so gushingly.

What Masako sees is the magic of violence. The magic of motorbikes and wooden swords and rebellion. The magic of the disaffected and the dissatisfied and the disillusioned.

Sometimes a tendril of green or blue makes it through the red, the last dying screams of the plants her gang crushes beneath their bikes or the drying rivers tainted by their poisons. Never did they overcome the red however. Their magic was not strong enough. No plant or river can rival the power of a human’s colour. That is the source of Masako’s red.

But another human can.

It is the first time anything has been strong enough to blot out her colour. The yellow so loud, so cloying, it sinks into everything in the surroundings and dyes it to match.

“Hello there! Let me introduce myself,” the girl says in broken Japanese and grins, as if unconcerned she is surrounded by a bike gang primed for war. “I’m just a poor foreigner who got a bit lost. Won’t one of you help get me back to my hotel?”

Masako grits her teeth and bears down, her own red tendrils lashing back. “We don’t need your kind here,” she says grimly. Already, some of the others are finding their colours washing out, one particularly drab girl already gaining a greenish hue to her slate blue. Masako can feel her own red trying to react and bears down harder.

“Aw, no need to be so rude. I just need a bit of help,” the foreigner smiles winsomely. Her yellow thrums with the same fake innocence, smooth as butter. But Masako can hear the false notes, an uncertainty in the undulation that feels less like a well-put-together scam and more like the panicky scrabbling of prey trying to worm into hiding.

“We have none to give you,” Masako snaps back. She gives a stronger push and notes with satisfaction that it is the foreigner who is starting to gain an orange tint. Then frowns; the foreign girl is letting them mix _on purpose_. Masako jerks back with a scowl. She refuses to admit how right that felt.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” The yellow reaches for Masako once more, desperation radiating out in waves. She’s going to overwhelm her, Masako thinks hysterically, and then everything stops.

A shadow drops over them all, a darkness that sets Masako’s teeth on edge. The hair on her nape rises as she looks around, goosebumps rippling along her skin in self-defence. It’s an unnatural gloom, she recognises immediately, as difficult as it is to tell at this hour. But even the night has its colours; the moon’s pale white should be blanketing them all. Masako looks up, but the moon is still there, as are the stars. They aren’t the ones being robbed of their colours; it’s her vision that’s being robbed. That’s when she realises; the darkness is _eating_ them.

The slate blue girl goes from green to a sick, muddy brown in an instant. She shrieks once and crumples to the ground in a dead faint. Some of the others are also finding their colours adulterating dangerously, far too quickly for them to handle.

Masako forces her frozen limbs to move, pressing down hard on the pedal of her bike. Her colour rides the vroom of the engine as it ripples out, trying to find something to latch on to. But the shadow is too strong, the oppressive cloud pressing down on them. The red dulls and falters; for a frightened moment Masako thinks it will rust beyond repair. But yellow surges out to meet it, pushing back against the dark.

Masako blinks and realises the foreigner girl has jumped on her bike, sitting behind Masako like she’s meant to be there. “Ride!” the girl screams in her ear.

It has been a long time since Masako did as she was told, but she follows the orders embedded in the yellow entwining her. The bike squeals as Masako forces it into speeds beyond what it is capable of, the two of them shrouded in a veil of orange as they force their way through the dark cloud, Masako’s shouts to disperse the only thing they leave behind them.

“What _is_ that thing?” Masako screams back once she feels they’re a good enough distance from the epicentre.

“Why are you asking me?” the foreigner girl yells and Masako resists the urge to push her off the bike. As if it can feel Masako’s rising bloodthirst, the yellow tangles itself harder into the orange that wreathes around them.

“You were running away from it,” Masako accuses, feeling the yellow flinch and knowing she’s right. “So spill.”

The foreign girl shakes her head, fine blonde strands whipping in the wind and lashing against Masako’s cheeks. “Not here. We’re still too close.”

Masako does not look behind her. “Still??”

“It found me while I was with you guys, didn’t it?” It’s impossible to sound wry when screaming into someone’s ear, but the girl manages it well. Masako’s red doesn’t even bother to protest when the yellow clutches tighter.

Masako hunches forward grimly, the empty streets washed out in a way that she can now tell is not natural. “How far?”

This time, it’s the girl’s arms clenching tight around Masako. “As far as you can.”

* * *

They end up going to the ocean. It’s shifting blue-green a direct contrast to their now thoroughly intermingled orange. But that’s a good thing according to the foreign girl – Alex.

“We have to stay away from other humans; that’s what it _eats_. That’s how it gets stronger.”

“But why was it after you specifically?” Masako had asked suspiciously, wishing she could untangle her red from the orange but not quite daring to.

Alex had smiled ruefully. “I think it’s just after anything it could reach. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So you lured it to us instead,” Masako mused, but knew that wasn’t quite right.

“I felt you.” Alex’s simple words had pierced Masako’s red like an arrow. “I knew we could kill it. Together. I just wasn’t expecting it to be so strong,” she admitted.

“It had fed more while it was chasing you.”

“Yes.”

Masako looks around them. The beach, if it can even be called that, is more gravel than sand. Anything of interest here has long since been washed away by the tide. She can see no green, nothing growing, not even in the water. Only the sound of waves dashing against the shore accompanies them on this desolate beach. Not even the birds are out at this hour. The early morning sun is just barely starting to rise on the horizon, its red and yellow feeding into their orange. There is no one for _it_ to feed on.

“I’m going to beat you up for this after,” Masako says, knowing she can’t refuse. She has lost all right when they had run from the cloud together, when she willingly let their colours mingle.

“Alright.” Alex smiles, that same toothy smile from when they met. And then the darkness is on them.

The shadow sinks into them; Masako can feel it trying to break them down. She slams back against it, using the blues and greens of the ocean to give her something to push against. Alex is right; the contrast is a sharp boundary that grounds them, a solid foundation the darkness cannot touch. The constant ebb and flow is a reassuring presence behind their backs, allowing them to fight back better.

As if feeling their resistance growing, the darkness swells up, coiling around them. Masako doesn’t let it faze her. She can feel the sun at their backs. Its red and yellows are their red and yellows, replenishing their strength faster than the dark can take it away.

But even as the shadow cannot break them nor can they break it in turn. It is too well-entrenched. Too full with the colours of all those it had consumed on the way. Now that Masako can feel it better, she can tell it is much older than she would have ever guessed. Its age is more real than even the ocean, with its constant changing lives.

Masako can feel doubts creeping into her. This is not something that will bow to her will. Or something that she can destroy. Her violence barely makes a dint in its history. Who does she think she is with her aimless rebelling and her trivial unconformity? What does it matter in the long run that life doesn’t respond to her wishes? Who cares? She has driven them all away in her petty craving for independence. An independence that was nothing but a delusion.

There is a movement at her side, someone raising their arm. And then Alex slips her hand into Masako’s. It is such a childish gesture, such a trusting one, Masako lets it blindside her.

The red that had almost rusted away rushes back with her anger. So what if it was all a delusion? It’s her delusion. Her independence. Her rebellion. So what if that thing is as old as balls? Old people die. That’s what they do.

Alex twitches at the dark turn Masako’s thoughts turn down, but the red is as bright and vicious as ever. The yellow surges up to meet it like it had when they first fought back against the shadow. This time, they join with no reservations and no pretences. Alex’s ambition and Masako’s apathy. Antithesis yet compatible and oh so familiar. Their orange is so bright, it blots out the shadow entirely, merging with the sun until the whole area is their territory, their zone, them.

The darkness lashes out one more time, but it is too late. They slice right through the heart of the shadow, into something they should never have touched, and then Masako knows no more.

* * *

When she wakes up, the midday sun is beating down on them, making sweat drip into Masako’s eyes. She looks around her, but the shadow is well and truly gone. All colours are as they should be. Alex is still lying stretched out beside her, face peaceful in repose. Their hands are still clasped together Masako realises belatedly and hurriedly pulls away.

The jerky movement wakes Alex, who blinks sleepily as she looks around just like Masako had. Their eyes meet and for some reason Masako is holding her breath.

Alex smiles. “It worked!”

“It did,” Masako acknowledges grudgingly. She doesn’t want to admit just how well. It rankles that she had allowed someone so close inside her. She had accepted Alex and had been accepted in turn.

“So…now what?” Alex looks at her challengingly, eyes as blue as the ocean at their backs.

Masako looks away, then turns to face her straight on. “You need to go back to your hotel, don’t you?”

“Oh!” Alex blinks dumbly. “You’re right! God, I hope I don’t get into trouble.” Seeing Masako’s confused look, she says, “I’m here for a school trip. I don’t think my teacher will be very happy that I spent the night outside…”

Masako is the one to blink this time. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

To Masako’s ripe old age of eighteen, that’s practically a _baby_. She sighs. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Really? Thanks!” Alex slings an arm around Masako’s neck. “You’re the greatest!”

Masako looks at her coldly. “Don’t forget I’m still going to beat you up.”

“Oh yeah.” Alex visibly deflates.

Masako remembers the callouses she had felt while holding that hand. The very familiar callouses. Feeling their orange still enclosing them, Masako says, “Your hotel has a basketball court, doesn’t it? I am going to teach you a good hard lesson.”

This is where it ends. Two girls, a night of adventure, and a matching passion that brought them together more than any merging of colours. Years later, Alex’s yellow spreads throughout the USA’s university basketball scene and then is unceremoniously snuffed out. Masako’s own red rises and falls from the Japanese Nationals scene in the meantime. The world spins on as their colours fade from its headlines.

But the orange remains. The magic is still there. Masako can see it. And knows Alex can too.


End file.
